


Whipping Boy

by mooglecharm (morphaileffect)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Drama, Family Secrets, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Major Character Injury, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/mooglecharm
Summary: [TRIGGER WARNING for child physical abuse] Noctis has night terrors, where he wakes up calling out for Ignis. Prompto couldn't get Noctis to talk about it. So he approaches Ignis for information.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	Whipping Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say here, except...PLEASE take the trigger warning seriously.

“Iggy...Ignis...no...”

More than the mumbling, Noctis’ increasingly aggressive tossing and turning woke everyone in the tent.

Prompto was closest to Noctis, so he was the one who tried first to wake him.

“Dude,” he tentatively called. “Noct? Buddy?”

Only whimpers in reply. His friend had started to breathe heavily and sweat through his clothes.

“What’s up with him?” Gladio mumbled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Ignis, at the far end of the tent, was already sitting up, scrambling for his spectacles.

Prompto tried shaking Noctis awake. “Noct...?”

“Let him go,” Noctis said loudly. “Leave him alone!”

With a sweep of his arm, Noctis knocked Prompto aside.

Prompto fell back, stunned. That was a combat-strength move. One he was pretty sure he didn’t deserve, and yet -

“Noct,” Ignis called, as he knelt by the sleeping boy. “Your Highness.”

Noctis answered by calling out his name repeatedly. Ignis. Iggy.

“I’m right here.” Ignis reached down, took the King by the shoulders. “Noct. Wake up. I’m here.”

The Lucian King turned to him, clung to his arms as if they were lifelines, as he gasped for air.

Finally, slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Iggy,” he said breathlessly, and drew in the taller man for what Prompto could only describe as a bone-crushing embrace.

Ignis bent down to return said embrace. Prompto crawled off to sit beside Gladio, who looked on at the scene, every bit as befuddled as Prompto was.

“What the f--“ Gladio muttered.

“Prompto,” Ignis said softly, “can I trouble you for some water.”

“O-on it,” Prompto stammered. He crawled over to the corner where they had stationed their water jug. He quickly took a paper cup, filled it, and handed it to Ignis.

Ignis remembered to thank him before holding the cup against Noctis’ lips. For a moment, Prompto wondered if Noctis was really so out of it that he couldn’t drink on his own. But Noctis seized the cup and moved away from Ignis’ arms, propping himself up to a sitting position with his free hand.

He downed the contents of the cup in a few gulps. Ignis remained kneeling beside Noctis. The other two denizens of the tent watched, tensely silent.

And when Noctis had finished drinking, had wiped the sweat from his brow, and had caught his breath, he looked at everyone around him, and cluelessly asked:

“...What?”

***

Prompto tried teasing Noctis about it in the morning to get more info, but Noctis just insisted he remembered nothing.

He might have had a bad dream, sure. But what was the big deal? People have bad dreams, sometimes.

“Yeah, but not where you call out for a specific person like they were dying and you couldn’t get to them _,”_ Prompto tried to argue.

Noctis groaned and rolled his eyes.

“So I called out for Specs, so what,” he said, annoyed. “Doesn’t mean anything. We grew up together, okay, he’s bound to make it into my dreams _some_ time.”

“Yeah, all right,” Prompto conceded.

But the thing was, he didn’t just call out for Ignis. He _cried out_ for Ignis. _Begged_ for him to be there.

And it was obvious Prompto wasn’t going to get any answers from Noctis on this.

So there was just one other person to ask.

Prompto seized the opportunity to bring it up while Noctis was fishing, later that day. Nothing could tear the King away from his favorite hobby, so he couldn’t possibly overhear Prompto asking Ignis about it way over at their campsite.

Ignis was enjoying a mug of coffee while poring over some maps of Lucis. He wasn’t alone. Gladio was also there, reading his book and gloriously ignoring everything around him.

It was a fairly peaceful scene.

Which made it a perfect setting for Prompto to suddenly blurt out:

“So. About last night, huh??”

Gladio and Ignis both looked at him sharply. Oops. Might have been a little too loud.

“I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Sounded like something might be seriously troubling Noct. For him to get that way.”

“Mm. Yeah,” Gladio agreed, to Prompto’s surprise. “I don’t normally put stock in dreams and all, but...sure sounded like Noct has some issues to work through.”

“Indeed,” Ignis thoughtfully remarked. “I would have thought he’d outgrown it already.”

Both Gladio and Prompto looked at Ignis at the same time.

“Outgrown what?” Prompto bounded toward Ignis, dramatically sat at his feet. “Do tell!”

Ignis sighed, very loudly. But it wasn’t loud enough to reach Noctis, who was in a world of his own, way out at the shoreline. There was no one to take Ignis’ side against the apparent onslaught of questions.

“Iggy,” Gladio began, in response to Ignis’ reluctance, “we’re all here to look out for the Prince - sorry...I mean the King, now. If there’s something bothering him, and we can do something about it, we’d wanna know.”

“Of course,” Ignis acknowledged. “But if he hasn’t moved past it, I’m afraid he may not be able to move past it, ever. Our offers of help may not make much of a difference.”

“Move past _what?_ ” Prompto ventured.

Iggy sighed again, more softly this time. More to himself.

“That time,” he began, “when we were children.”

***

Ignis had been six years old when he entered the royal household.

He was the eldest child of the third son of the patriarch: as such, he was already preordained to go into royal service. Every eldest child in each nuclear family was.

All that was left, was to find a position for him.

His family were still thinking of what to groom him to become, when King Regis idly asked his uncle, an attendant in the royal house, if it was a good idea to assign an older child to act as his son’s companion.

His only child, four-year-old Noctis, was growing up without the influence of both parents. His mother was gone and his father was mostly absent, attending to royal duties - and he was getting to be a rebellious little handful.

Perhaps, King Regis mused, if Noctis had an older brother or sister of sorts to keep an eye on him, he would be less inclined to misbehave.

His uncle did not think twice about recommending his nephew for the task: an uncommonly intelligent, conscientious boy only slightly older than the prince.

King Regis had been lukewarm to the idea...but his attendant had been so enthusiastic about the recommendation, that he eventually came to think it would do no harm to give it a shot.

And so, Ignis was welcomed into the Lucis Caelum household, as a “companion” to the excitable little Crown Prince.

Thanks to his uncle’s PR.

***

“Kinda weird to imagine Noct as an uppity kid,” Gladio pointed out, casting a disbelieving glance at the faraway boy who was laser-focused on the fish in his line.

“Yeah,” Prompto mused aloud. “I’m trying to see Noct as an uncontrollable brat and I’m just - seeing a sleepy baby who can’t be bothered.”

“Oh,” Ignis chuckled, “trust me, he was a literal handful. He used to test the tempers of the adults around him, just to see how much he could get away with. As is natural with toddlers, I suppose...”

“But you were barely out of toddlerhood, yourself,” Gladio pointed out. “Six years old, right? When you entered the service.”

“Yes,” Ignis readily answered. “But. Uhm. My upbringing was...slightly different.”

“Different how?” Prompto asked.

This was a difficult question. Ignis visibly mulled over the best way to phrase the answer.

“There were expectations, you see,” Ignis presently explained. “As a Scientia, I was tasked to take my role as ‘royal companion’ seriously. Everyone in my family takes the concept of duty to heart.”

“All houses that serve the royal family do,” Gladio pointed out. “You think the Amicitias took things easy? It’s par for the course.”

Prompto wouldn’t have had the first clue about this. He wasn’t part of a royal family. He wasn’t aware of how “retainership” worked exactly, and why it seemed to be such a big deal.

Like him, Iggy and Gladio were by Noctis’ side because they _wanted_ to be, right?

Not just because they were _expected_ to be...right?

“Yes, well.” Ignis pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “When you put it that way, it seems the Amicitias and the Scientias might have one big thing in common.”

***

The “one big thing,” it turned out, was that they did not tolerate shortcomings.

House Amicitia traditionally served as soldiers - there was one King’s Shield in every generation, while other able-bodied men and women from their family filled lower military positions.

Not going easy on each other was a given. If one wanted to be strong, tough and capable, the most basic thing an Amicitia would need to do was learn to endure the consequences of their mistakes.

On the other hand, the scholarly House Scientia produced strategic advisers, of one kind or another. Agricultural experts, legal experts, engineers, and the like...

But they also provided valets, ladies-in-waiting, butlers and attendants.

Entering the royal service was a matter of familial honor, no matter what position you took. Whether you were a historian or a stable boy, what mattered was that you were in the royal employ.

And under no circumstance were you to bring shame to your house.

All noble families that served the King put their scions through rigorous training - aimed at honing their skills so that they might represent their families with pride.

But there was one special kind of “training” that some of the Scientias applied.

Something the King had no knowledge of.

***

Ignis fell silent.

“Well?” Gladio impatiently prodded. “What was it?”

“Let me start by saying,” Ignis said, with sudden solemnity, “abusive behavior comes in many forms. But when the topic of discussion is punishment for legitimate transgressions, some may refuse to call it ‘abuse’ at all.”

Prompto wasn’t sure he understood it correctly...

But he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

And, apparently, neither could Gladio - who was, true to form, less emotionally conflicted than anyone else.

“Define ‘legitimate transgressions,’” Gladio demanded in a low voice. “At six fucking years old.”

Prompto could only look helplessly at Ignis.

Who held his coffee mug in both hands, turned it this way and that absently.

“And I want to emphasize,” he continued, completely ignoring Gladio, “that not everyone in my family practices corporal punishment. Only the older, more traditional members.”

He took a sip of coffee to prepare for telling a more difficult part of his story.

“Like my uncle. The one who brought me to the castle. The one with whom I lived during my first few years there.”

***

The King was not privy to how his retainers’ families raised their children.

And this was good. It was none of his business. Or anyone’s.

But King Regis still would have thought the Scientia family, being mostly academics, would be progressive in their child-rearing practices.

He would have been mostly right.

Except there were outliers like Ignis’ uncle, a close personal attendant to the King himself. This uncle was raised with the belief that inflicting physical punishment was necessary to instill good habits, particularly in children.

The younger one was, he believed, the more one had to suffer. The wildness had to be beaten out.

(“What kind of ‘punishment’ are we talking about?” Gladio had asked.

“I don’t want to go into detail,” Ignis had said. “But suffice it to say...I began wearing long trousers and long-sleeved shirts at the age of six. He was an expert at leaving welts, but not wounds, and he knew how to keep them fresh.”

“That’s...sick,” Prompto said, and meant it from the bottom of his heart.

Ignis shrugged. “He also taught me sewing, basic cooking, proper decorum, and other important life skills. That, plus the fact that I wouldn’t have become Noct’s companion if not for him - I owed him much.”

Prompto suddenly realized that Ignis didn’t say this uncle’s name. He was being careful.

But despite the flattering words, he didn’t speak of this uncle fondly. Rather, he spoke of him dispassionately - as if he were a page from a book he had long finished reading, and had set aside for good.)

His uncle believed that any misstep made by Noctis was attributable to his companion.

This meant - if the Crown Prince misbehaved, it was Ignis’ fault.

For not keeping a close eye on him.

For not guiding him toward better behavior.

In short: for not being a good protector and companion.

So every time Noctis snuck out, or stole a piece of pastry from the palace kitchens, or wreaked havoc in the palace gardens, or drew on the walls with crayon, Ignis knew what he was getting into.

Ignis should have known better.

Therefore, Ignis was the one getting punished.

By recruiting Ignis into the royal household, House Scientia didn’t just provide the Crown Prince, the future King of Kings, with a companion.

They gave him a whipping boy.

***

As Ignis spoke, Gladio made small grunts and sounds indicating displeasure. And when that part of the story was done, he passed a hand over his face.

Ignis’ words were not easy for him to hear by any means.

It wasn’t easy for Prompto, either, but he sat silently, unsure how to act. How does one react to finding out that their friend and trusted companion had been an abused child, had suffered so much?

He wanted to get up off the ground and tackle Ignis with a full-body glomp. He wanted to hold his hand, at least. He wanted to let Ignis know he was there and would have clobbered his uncle, if he had grown up at the castle, too, and had known.

But he felt as if Ignis was the least bothered of the three of them. And displays of affection or consolation or whatever Ignis would decide to call it from Prompto or anyone might be ridiculed, at best.

He was fine. He was over it. Mostly. At least enough to freely talk about it.

It was Noctis who was not.

The whole situation would have remained a secret to the rest of them, if not for Noctis’ nightmare.

A nightmare which Ignis was still gearing up to explain.

***

What he endured living with his uncle was a tightly-kept secret until four years later - when the royal family came home, after the fall of Tenebrae.

Eight-year-old Noctis had sustained a life-threatening injury in his spine and legs, from a mysterious daemon attack within the limits of the Crown City. He and his father had gone to Tenebrae seeking healing from the Oracle.

Ignis had not even been part of the retinue that had been transporting Noctis, on the night he got his injury. Yet his uncle somehow blamed Noctis’ injury on him, and beat him severely for weeks.

Small pranks and misdeeds were one thing - but almost dying out of the scope of Ignis’ watchful eye was another. It merited harsher punishment.

When Noctis came home, his legs still healing, and still shaken from seeing human lives being taken right in front of him, he noticed that his beloved companion was different.

Ignis’ hands sometimes trembled violently, making it difficult for him to hold on even to light things. He had also started stammering, forgetting words that had come so easily to him before. He seemed constantly distracted and nervous.

And worst of all, he had begun vomiting, all but collapsing whenever Noctis tried to get away with his old mischief.

So, instead of pushing through with his impulsive little plans, Noctis would attend to Ignis, accompanying him to a safe place to rest.

Ignis insisted that he was fine. But the signs were impossible to ignore.

So Noctis took it upon himself to try and see if anything about Ignis’ routines was amiss.

His amateur sleuthing soon led him to sneaking into Ignis’ and his uncle’s quarters one night.

He witnessed grown-ups holding Ignis down.

While his uncle refreshed the welts that decorated his back.

Noctis froze at the doorway.

Another child would have run away crying.

But Ignis was not someone he could leave behind.

So the Crown Prince stumbled into the room, angry and yelling. The adults holding Ignis down swiftly let him go. And Ignis rushed to the Prince's side, held him upright.

Ignis’ uncle tried to explain. But Noctis had turned the full force of his hatred on the man with the instrument of torture turned against his friend, and wouldn’t listen.

So Ignis said, I’ll handle it, Uncle.

Petrified at this point, his uncle said nothing. Ignis grabbed his shirt off the floor, put it on to cover his stinging skin, then led the still-seething Noctis out of the servants’ quarters, back to his own bedroom.

***

More than the memory of suffering in the hands of his uncle, it seemed that it was the memory of Noctis rushing in to rescue Ignis, that threw him into a pensive mood.

“He cried himself to sleep that night,” he softly related. “He kept saying he was sorry. For not being a healer. For not having healed quickly enough in Tenebrae, so he could protect people. For not knowing. The sight of me being hurt, by adults he trusted...shattered him.”

It wasn’t hard for Prompto to believe. He always knew Noct was a loyal friend. And an oblivious one.

He might not have noticed the signs right away, but as soon as he knew, he would have stopped at nothing to rectify his friend’s suffering.

Hell, Prompto would have been no different.

If he had been there - if he had actually met Ignis and Noctis so early in life, and had _been_ there - he would have thrashed that uncle soundly.

He wouldn’t have needed to know his name.

One glance at Gladio told Prompto that he was exactly the same. His murderous eyes said he might even have _killed_ that uncle, if no one had held him back.

If Ignis knew how his listeners felt, he didn’t acknowledge it. At any rate, he didn’t have to; he was the one telling the story. Everything was in _his_ past, and in Noct’s.

“I spent the night in his room, at his request,” Ignis continued to say. “He wouldn’t let me out of his sight. And when he woke in the morning, he had two options for me. Either we told the King about my uncle. Or we ran away.”

***

Noctis was adamant on these two options.

Ignis’ stressed-out young mind kept repeating: _I can’t tell on my uncle. The King would be ashamed. My family would be ruined. They’ll take me from the castle and I’ll never see Noct again._

So Ignis agreed to the second option.

And Noctis wanted to waste no time.

Ignis had to handle all the planning, of course. And the logistics. Noctis’ legs were still weak and he couldn’t walk very fast, or very long. They needed to take frequent breaks, just out of sight of passers-by.

Slowly, but efficiently, they made their way out of the gates, with their little bags of essentials already stashed in their chosen getaway vehicles - trucks carrying supplies to and from the castle.

Sneaking past palace guards was easier than Ignis thought it would be. Insomnia had always been a peaceful place, with hardly any threats to royal safety within the confines of the royal palace.

Moreover, seeing Ignis in the company of the Prince meant the guards didn’t suspect anything was amiss.

Despite the escape plan he was actively participating in, Ignis mentally took notes on increasing palace security.

He felt ill all throughout. But he allowed himself to vomit out the contents of his little stomach one time, big time, before pushing through with their plan. That at least minimized the nausea.

They managed to sneak into one of the supply trucks, and completely leave palace grounds.

Ignis had carefully timed their escape. In a few hours, people would start looking for the prince. Even his uncle would start getting frantic.

He and Noctis would need to be somewhere impossible to track, by then.

There was a vast forest along the truck’s route. When they got there, the two children needed to jump off the vehicle, and hide in the woods. Search and rescue teams put together by the Crownsguard would not think of looking there. At least, not on the first day.

***

In the truck, Noctis napped with his head on Ignis’ lap. He seemed so small and frail. He slept so fitfully.

While in Tenebrae, Noctis had sent Ignis a short email about the Oracle’s daughter, Luna - about how pretty she was, and how nice she was for always spending time with him.

But after the fall of Tenebrae, the Oracle was murdered, and her children taken into Empire custody. No one knew how the Oracle’s children were doing, or if any other member of the royal family was saved from Niflheim’s assault.

And then Noctis came home to the Crown City, barely recovered from his injuries, to find his friend in trouble.

Ignis brushed hair from the little prince’s sleeping face, fearing that Noctis was beset with too many feelings he was still too young to understand.

And he was dealing with it by running away.

But wasn’t Ignis doing the same? He was the one who made the decision not to tell the King.

To place the Prince in danger, like this.

Thinking about it made the sick feelings return.

And by the time night fell, he felt so ill he was worried he wouldn’t be able to move.

Nighttime was especially dangerous. Insomnia was supposed to be safe behind the King’s Wall, but a powerful daemon was able to attack the Prince within the confines of the Wall during nighttime anyway.

Ignis had to put his fears aside, tell his little body to behave. Their plans were going well so far. They were in the woods and far from other people’s prying eyes. No daemon would come after them.

He had to set up shelter. Cook a meal. Summon up all the survival skills he had learned from the uncle who had hurt him.

He had to keep the Prince safe.

***

Gladio sat back, crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m having trouble believing just one thing,” he announced. “You helped Noct run away?”

“Expertly,” Ignis said smugly, as he sipped some more of the coffee cooling in his mug.

Gladio shook his head. “Not like you, Iggy. Noct was still injured from a nighttime daemon attack. You would’ve known better than to put him in danger again.”

“Would I?” Ignis calmly challenged. “At ten years old? After weeks of being beaten? With the threat of being parted from Noct a very real and present one?”

Gladio was silent. Prompto could tell that Gladio didn’t quite buy it - he might have regarded Ignis’ level-headedness too highly, to have believed him capable of making such reckless decisions at _any_ age - but he didn’t pursue that line of questioning. Prompto admitted to himself that he was relieved.

“If it makes you feel better, Gladio, that side of me didn’t stay in control long. As soon as Noct was fast asleep in our little tent, I pulled out my phone and called Cor, told him our location.”

Within an hour, the Crownsguard had arrived. Cor looked thoroughly pissed off, but he kept his voice level as he told Ignis to get into the Regalia, which he had driven there on the King’s orders.

Without ceremony, the Crownsguard packed up their little campground and picked up the sleeping prince. Noctis woke up enraged, flailing around, calling out for Ignis and resisting being carried to his father’s car.

In the car, Cor told him that Ignis was the one who had called. And when Ignis’ betrayal finally sank in, Noctis fell silent.

“He didn’t talk to me all throughout the trip back,” Ignis said. “Didn’t even look at me.” And the sadness with which he said this did not escape Prompto.

***

Ignis took all of the responsibility as soon as they arrived back at the castle.

Running away was his idea, he said to the senior castle attendants, and it was his lapse of judgment that led to the Prince’s endangerment.

He had failed as a companion. Was ready to accept any punishment due.

His uncle stepped up to him and hit him with the back of his hand, across the face.

It was the first time his uncle struck him in full view of others, and on a spot on his body that other people could see.

Regis sat by his son’s bedside all that night. The next morning, news swiftly but quietly broke among the royal attendants’ ranks that Ignis’ uncle’s retainership was being terminated.

It was an order from the King himself.

It was seen as a huge blow to House Scientia. A quiet release from service was only a small step up from a publicly humiliating one.

And Ignis’ uncle had been one of the King’s most trusted attendants. Someone who was privy to many of the royal house’s secrets (if, in fact, they had any to keep). Someone who usually had lifelong tenure.

That he was being terminated meant the King simply couldn’t stand him any longer. His entire family would feel the weight of that humiliation.

Except.

It turned out, that wasn’t the end of the world for House Scientia.

His uncle was ordered to depart, but his family was tasked to come up with a replacement for him.

And so, another of Ignis’ uncles took his place: a younger, kinder one.

His first uncle sank into obscurity, and Ignis never inquired after him. The rest of his family shied away from mentioning him in polite company, as well. No one knew what happened to him after he was thrown out of the castle, and no one really cared.

The two servants that his uncle had recruited to aid in the torment of his nephew, were also identified and let go of. Before leaving the castle, they asked to see Ignis, and to apologize to him formally. They were just following orders, they said, but they knew it was wrong. And they hoped Ignis would heal from his years in his uncle’s “care.”

Moreover, and more importantly:

Ignis wasn’t released from service as the Prince’s companion.

He was even tasked to move out of his uncle’s room, into a new space, outside of the servant’s quarters. It was smaller than the space he used to share with his uncle, but it afforded him more peace and quiet.

Until he turned sixteen, he lived here with his second uncle, who looked after him as if he were his own son. Ignis was mandated to see a doctor regularly, until he was “all better” - which, Ignis soon learned, discreetly involved psychiatric care.

He certainly got more than what the usual ten-year-old retainer was entitled to.

...And this was something Ignis didn’t quite understand. He figured that his first uncle was let go of because Noctis had told his father about his inclination toward sadism.

But Noctis should have asked for Ignis to be driven out of the castle, too. He should’ve hated Ignis for betraying him.

By keeping Ignis on as his retainer, was it safe to assume that he didn’t?

Ignis wouldn’t see Noctis for weeks, however. Noctis would ask to be taken to and from school by other people, and insist on not having a companion for some time.

When Noctis finally agreed to see him again, so many things had changed.

His legs appeared to be fully healed. He could walk and run at a seemingly normal pace. His hair was a little longer, covering more of his eyes and the back of his neck than before.

And his face didn’t light up anymore when he saw Ignis. It used to. He used to be so eager to tell Ignis about his day, to hear Ignis’ stories about the new things he learned, to share his new toys, and to talk politics and philosophy couched in simple terms of childish gossip.

He began to regard Ignis coldly. When Ignis suggested he take better care of his behavior and appearance, he rolled his eyes. When Ignis talked to him about anything at all, he stayed mostly silent, looking bored and a little resentful.

Ignis had been his first best friend.

And neither of them had time to mourn the end of that.

***

“Listen,” Prompto quietly suggested, “if Noct still dreams about that time...I don’t think he’s dealt with it like he should.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Ignis remarked. “These are night terrors. Possibly a culmination of many things he’s been feeling since we left the Crown City. But that it’s anchored in a specific traumatic event in his past...says there are deep-set feelings he has yet to confront.”

“Sometimes you may think you’re over something, then the past creeps up on you,” Gladio mused. He cast a glance in Noctis’ direction. “Guess that’s something even royalty isn’t immune from.”

“Royals are human like the rest of us, after all.” Ignis paused. “I think...I’m going to be sleeping next to Noct for the time being. At least until things quiet down.”

“If he’ll let you,” Gladio pointed out.

“I’ve slept next to him a few times already. It should be no trouble. It would just make it easier for me to get to him if he gets night terrors again.”

“Do you think things will quiet down soon?” Prompto asked.

Ignis didn’t answer right away. And when he did, he sounded uncertain.

“If we give him enough time and space to process what’s going on...we can only hope.”

***

The day was late. Noctis was not done fishing. But the others were grateful to have had an easy day.

They needed this time off, to rest and regroup, to make sense of things. It was so soon after the fall of Insomnia. And they enjoyed feeling that for once, they had the luxury of time.

They were hopeful that their King did, as well.

The sun was about to set. Ignis approached Noctis, who was seated with his feet dangling over the edge of the wooden platform.

He sat down beside his friend. His presence was not acknowledged.

“Noct,” he began nonetheless, “we have a long journey ahead of us. Before we go on any further, there’s something I need to say.”

Noctis frowned. Ignis, undeterred, continued:

“I’ll always do what I think is best for you. And I’ll always want to be by your side. Not just because it’s my job. Or because you have no way to get rid of me.”

No bite. Noctis reeled back his line. Ignis waited until he had cast it again, before he resumed speaking.

“I know...that my constant hovering has been and could be troublesome. But I’ll always have your best interests at heart. I’m not going anywhere. Except if you tell me to.”

Suddenly, Noctis threw an arm around Ignis.

And pulled him close.

A small sound escaped Ignis, who was given no word of warning.

“As if I’d want you anywhere I can’t see you,” Noctis mumbled, close to his ear.

He let go, and Ignis sat up. Pulled his shirt front down to straighten it.

“Gotta look out for you, you know? You’re like a helpless baby without me,” Noctis said, deadpan.

Ignis laughed. “Yes,” was his light-hearted retort, “who _would_ fix my clothes and make me eat my vegetables if you weren’t around?”

Noctis grunted.

“Folks are saying there’s a whopper here that comes out only at sunset. Just waiting for that one to bite, then I’m done. You better have a good recipe ready for when I catch it.”

When, and not if. The young King's bravado was familiar and comforting.

Ignis let out a relieved sigh.

“Of course, your Highness,” he said softly.


End file.
